


One Autumnal Face, No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in

by tronjolras



Series: The Autumnal Series [1]
Category: Regency Love (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, it's cute okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 13:29:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16766086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tronjolras/pseuds/tronjolras
Summary: On the first anniversary of your marriage to Mr. Curtis, you expect a quiet day with your husband, but he has something else planned."'No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face,' he murmurs."'John Donne? My, my, you are in a romantic mood Mr. Curtis,' is the only thing you can think to say.  'Or did you chose our wedding date in order to quote ‘The Autumnal’ on our anniversary,' you say as you begin to recover."'I’m sure I haven’t any idea what you mean.' He kisses you once more before taking his coat from you and stepping away.  'Shall we go in, Mrs. Curtis? I don’t think it will do to greet our guests with dirt all over me.'"'Guests!' But Demetrius is already on his way back into the house. 'Demetrius!' You run after him determined to find out exactly what he has planned."





	One Autumnal Face, No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in

A full year has passed since you exchanged vows with Demetrius, you think about it silently as your chambermaid helps you dress. You know Demetrius has something planned, but he has refused to tell you anything about it. At least you know it’s not a party. You have only ever had to host one event and it was a party upon your return from your wedding tour at Bradley House in Hertfordshire, at the insistence of your mother. 

Initially, Demetrius would not have it. You were nervous to even ask, but Mama was persistent. Finally, it came down to Mr. Worthington’s stern words to your husband that persuaded him to acquiesce. (You asked your husband what Mr. Worthington possibly could have said to convince him. Demetrius sighed, “he reminded me that I no longer live for myself, of which I am ashamed to have needed a reminder.”) 

The party itself was rather underwhelming. At all of Mr. Worthington’s events, your only refuge was provoking your Mr. Curtis and letting him distract you with long, literary conversations. However, when you played the host and hostess, your duties left little time for any long-lasting stimulating conversation, with each other or anyone else.

It was not a wholly unpleasant evening, though. You and Demetrius were still newlyweds (what a delight to discover that even your Mr. Curtis was susceptible to the giggly romance of newlyweds) and due to the size of Bradley House, the guest list was restrained to only your family and close friends, except for Mrs. Norris who discovered the party beforehand and assumed she was invited.

Shortly thereafter, you removed yourselves to Yorkshire and let Mama have the run of Bradley House while you and your husband stayed, quite contently, a three days’ journey away.

The chambermaid, a girl by the name of Hetty, helps you into your stays. For today, you choose short stays to go under your informal morning dress and yawn. You blame your fatigue on the fact that for the past several nights, you have been staying up even after your husband has gone to sleep, rereading the great works of the Authoress. Demetrius finds your modern fiction tedious, but there is something invigorating, even addicting about immersing yourself in her worlds of comedy and romance. If only your pursuit of a husband were as simple as plots of Austen’s heroines.

Why, when you re-emerged from mourning your father and Mama began to push you seriously into matrimony, there was not one attractive, eligible bachelor, there were three. But that was three years ago and you are happy with your decision, still feeling a thrill calling yourself Mrs. Curtis.

You yawn again but it turns into a cough when Hetty tugs the laces of your stays closed. You share a laugh with her. She is a year or so younger than you, and throughout your time as mistress of Penridge, you have found her companionship invaluable. She was sort of the staff that Demetrius hired after your marriage when he realized that even though you were sometimes just as reclusive as he, you would need a fuller staff to maintain the house to your standards. And despite his destestation of change, your husband gave you a generous budget to redecorate. 

You did your best to make the changes as undetectable and non-disruptive as possible, but you felt that it was important to sever his ties with at least some of the bad memories he had of this place. They biggest change was the bedroom you shared. You know you could never erase the fact that he had watch his mother die in this room, but you could do your best to brighten it up a little by plastering the walls with wallpaper painted with bouquets of some of the flowers you grew in your garden, removing the heavy damask curtains over the windows and replacing them with fashionable gauzy things that had been a wedding gift from Ellie Ashcroft. The library you tactfully left untouched. 

The only input your husband gave on the was to move his father’s portrait to the ballroom, which neither of you had any inclination to visit. In its place, Demetrius brought down a picture of his mother from the upstairs. 

You knew your job was done, however, when one evening as you turned down the covers, Demetrius took a long look around the room from wallpaper to curtains to the flowers he brought in fresh himself that morning before blowing the candle out; a taught look of consideration crossed his face before he said, “My dear, I think what Penridge has been missing all these years was a woman’s touch.”

Hetty helps you into your gown and you tie your fichu around your neck before you fasten up the bodice. You note the time on the clock on the mantelpiece. Demetrius should have finished with breakfast now and moved on to whatever pursuit he has decided will entertain him for the rest on the morning. 

You go downstairs without breakfast. That it is your anniversary has inspired a little nervousness that goes right to your stomach. The feeling reminds you of how you felt during your courtship and engagement, a girlish feeling that could turn to laughter or sobs in a moment’s notice. You check the library first, where you suspect Demetrius might be reading the papers, but you should have known that on such a sunny day, he would have gone directly to the garden, where he tends to the last blooms of summer. 

Your husband is not an idle man. He often spends hours a day conducting business in his study and frequents Lampton Hall to check on the school. You always accompany him. You are almost as invested in the school as he is, but you have a particular focus on the education of the young girls housed in Lampton. One of the first battles you waged with your husband took place during your engagement when you asked to teach the girls some practical skills that would allow them to acquire work after they left Lampton. Mr. Curtis argued that instruction in needlework and drawing would distract them from their more serious studies, but you argued with as much vigor and stamina that young women were not liberated by education alone, they also required independent means. You think your husband still believes that such pursuits are beneath the types of scholars he wishes Lampton to produce, but you won out when you asked him how many universities did he know of that accepted women as scholars.

Since her marriage to Mr. Simmons, the ladies preparatory classes were taken over by Mary and take place with more regularity. Now, whenever you go, you go mostly to see your best friend and her and Mr. Simmons’ new baby, a hearty boy named Josiah. 

Mary’s marriage to Mr. Simmons caused quite a stir as Darlington watched a gentleman’s daughter condescend so, but it did serve to distract from your engagement to Demetrius, which was an unfortunately widespread topic of discussion. Nothing about your association went unremarked upon. Of particular interest was your unaccompanied flight to Yorkshire. You never told Demetrius, but you were relieved when he suggested you have a long engagement. Waiting a year would most definitely prove to any idle gossip that nothing untoward happened between you and he during your absence. 

You see Mr. Curtis first from the library’s window, down in the garden kneeling over the bed of lavender. The mid-morning heat has forced him to take off his coat which lays on the ground next to him. The sun makes the satin back of his waistcoat shine and picks out the silver in his hair. He’s not gone gray yet, but there are certainly more spots of silver on his head than there were when you met. Sometimes you do forget that you are nearly twenty years younger than him because since your romance began, he is more animated and more amiable than he was before, a fact that Mr. and Mrs. Worthington love to comment on whenever they see you. However, you know he has been under some stress during the last few days, and though you don’t know its cause, you trust your husband to tell you when there is news to share. 

As you make your way down the ancient grand staircase and out to the garden, your heart quickens, anticipating seeing your husband. 

You observe him for a moment longer when you go outside. You excuse your study by tying a bonnet under your chin and appreciate the methodical way Demetrius roots through the soil, plucking anything that is not a lavender stalk. “One more weeding ere harvest, farmer Curtis?” you tease.

Demetrius sits back on his heels, you do not envy Hetty the stains imbedded in the knees of his breeches. Demetrius turns back and laughs. His brown eyes are alight with the sun. “Just once more before the frost, Emilia, my dear.” 

Autumn is creeping over Penridge early. Looking over the stone wall separating the gardens from the estate’s grounds, you can see dots of premature coloring on the trees that span the hills. You see Demetrius has on a pair of thick leather gloves to ward off the unseasonable chill, you think you should have done the same. 

He sees your hesitation and interprets it partially correctly. He takes his coat and lays it out next to him, so you can join him without dirtying your skirt. You accept the offer, but keep your hands on your lap. As soon as spring claimed Penridge, you and your husband spent several hours every week tending the garden and he has taught you many things. Before, your horticultural knowledge was restricted to what grew in your kitchen garden at home, but now you know all sorts of fascinating things about the flowers Penridge grows. You were even able to present an award-winning bouquet in town of roses you cared for yourself. 

“Since it is finally the anniversary of our marriage, will you tell me what you’ve been planning for so long, Mr. He-who-receives-letters-from-our-friends-and-will-not-tell-me-what- they-say?”

Demetrius sighs with a smile and reaches into the flower bed to extract an offending shoot. “Thank Heaven we didn’t need to write all that on the marriage contract.”

You grab a few shoots from the pile of weeds between you and toss them over his knees. 

His lips tug into a frown before he gives up and laughs. “You are rapacious, child!” he cries.

You scowl at his continued evasion. “Think you I am no stronger than my sex, being so father’d and husbanded?” you quote the bard with the correct drama and passion. 

“Brava, my dear.” He brushes off the projectiles of your attack and puts them back on the pile. Satisfied with his morning’s work, he takes the pile in his hand to be deposed of. As he goes to the small shed on the side of the house, you stand and take his coat, making a note to apologize to Hetty later for the stains.

“I still want to know,” you tell him as he returns to you, gloves in hand. 

He looks at you fully, rolling down his sleeves with an amused grin. “Sleep well? You’re rather late up.”

You know he is concerned first, but you also know how your husband disapproves of sloth. But, you don’t know how to explain it to him yet, so you shrug. “We spent nearly all last month in Darlington, I suppose I am just happy to be home and in our own bed.” Though Demetrius owns Bradley House and it was the first place you stayed in as a married couple, you consider Penridge your home now. You think it makes Demetrius happy to know. 

You can tell by the way his expression becomes gentle and his eyes crinkle. “I am glad to hear it.”

You see him look furtively around the garden and you don’t know why until he has embraced you and pressed his lips to yours. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer. The kiss is bordering on obscene when Demetrius pulls away, but only far enough to see your face which he takes in his hand. By then, you’ve blushed fully scarlet. You are pleased that your husband can still make you blush, and you think he is too. 

“No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face,” he murmurs. 

“John Donne? My, my, you are in a romantic mood Mr. Curtis,” is the only thing you can think to say. “Or did you chose our wedding date in order to quote ‘The Autumnal’ on our anniversary,” you say as you begin to recover. 

“I’m sure I haven’t any idea what you mean.” He kisses you once more before taking his coat from you and stepping away. “Shall we go in, Mrs. Curtis? I don’t think it will do to greet our guests with dirt all over me.”

“Guests!” But Demetrius is already on his way back into the house. “Demetrius!” You run after him determined to find out exactly what he has planned. 

You followed your husband as far as the sitting room where Mr. Hughes finds you and delivers a letter. “From Mrs. Vale at Bradley House,” he says.

Letting Demetrius go without further interrogation, you step into the sitting room to read the letter. As you suspect, it is a general letter of congratulations on your first year of marriage. You are grateful for your mother’s words of encouragement especially because she is still rather underwhelmed by your choice of husband. The letter also includes an account of all of the happenings in Darlington. She writes that Phoebe was an excellent hostess at the last town ball. Colonel Watson’s return guaranteed Mama an invitation to every event he hosted at Birkenbridge. With the Colonel, came a deluge of soldiers for the girls of Darlington to fawn over but it is to the even greater delight of the gossipers to see the return of Mr. Richard Ashcroft. Mama is sure to say he has been successful in the army, but his background inspires the most wicked tongues to wag. 

You think in your response you might inquire about Mr. Graham who was so kind and amiable the year of your acquaintance, but you do not think your mother would approve of your curiosity. You decide to ask in your next letter to Mary instead.

After putting away the letter, you decide to take the time to work on your own anniversary surprise for your husband.

At three, you and your husband find yourselves reading quietly in the sitting room. You read Les Liaisons Dangereuse and he Plato’s Republic. Over your courtship and engagement, you discovered that your common love for literature did not always extend to cover genre. Being of the generation where novels have really come into fashion, you find yourself reaching for them more often than your husband’s preferred classical works. However, poetry is the passion of you both and often after dinner in the evening, you sit close to each other on the stout sofa in the library and share a book of poetry quietly or take turns reading the poems aloud.

He has said nothing more of guests, but you imagine by this time, they will be staying for dinner or longer--Just as you are in the middle of this thought, Hughes enters the room and coughs politely for Demetrius to acknowledge. “Sir, Mr. and Miss Ashcroft have arrived--”

“Oh!” you cry watch your husband as he smiles and nods.

“As well as Mr. , Mrs., and Master Simmons. Shall I send them in, sir.” Hughes continues.

“Demetrius!” you jump up and straighten your dress. 

“Yes, Hughes, as soon as they are settled.” Hughes nods and eaves as Demetrius pushes himself out of his chair. 

“Demetrius!” you exclaim again.

“Surprise, Emilia,” he says. 

You rush to him and throw your arms around his shoulders. “What an absolutely, perfectly lovely surprise!” You don’t know if you are more excited to see your friends or impressed by your husband’s willingness to host guests. 

“I trust you’re happy to see us then?” Mary’s voice comes from the door. 

You turn and see the four guests plus little Josiah Simmons in his father’s arms. In an instant, you are embracing Mary then Ellie as Demetrius greets the men with genial bows. Ellie hardly lets you go so you can greet Mr. Simmons and Mr. Ashcroft with a welcoming kiss on the cheek and to bestow a very affectionate kiss on Josiah’s forehead. He screw up his face but continues to sleep. For just a moment, Penridge’s quiet halls are clamorous. 

“I am so happy to see you all,” you say finally, wiping away tears. “I can’t believe… Mr. Curtis, you weasel, I am so happy you didn’t tell me what you were planning!”

Demetrius, just behind you, laughs heartily, inspiring the rest of the company to laugh as well. “Do come in everyone, Mrs. Elkins is having tea brought up directly.”

“Thank Heaven!” Mary cries, taking Josiah from her husband. “Three days on the road to get to you Emmy! Torturous!”

“Mr. Ashcroft was kind enough to allow us the use of his carriage and luckily the baby fared well for the most part,” Mr. Simmons explains. “But he was rather fussy today.” He looks at Mr. Ashcroft apologetically, but Mr Ashcroft just returns the expression with a modest, vacant smile. 

“Oh do come sit by me, Mary, I want to dote upon my godchild,” you say as you all begin to fill the sitting room. You sit in the middle of the long sofa and Mary sits on one side while Ellie settle on the other. 

Josiah begins to wake up, his little face screwing into a scowl but relaxes instead of screaming, which puts Mary at ease. Mary hands him to you and you three make polite chat while Mr. Ashcroft, Mr. Simmons, and Demetrius sit in armchairs on the other side of the room, speaking of whatever men must talk about when women talk of children and gossip. You learn from Ellie that Richard is on his way to becoming an officer and from Mary you learn that Lampton is ready to graduate its first class. The children you met on your first excursion to Lampton, Colin, Peter, and Tabitha, have a few more years yet. Colin has become a great reader, so you always make sure you’re adding to Lampton’s library whenever you go. 

When tea comes, the conversation becomes more general. Over the last three years, the Ashcroft have publicly claimed their brother and Ellie speaks of him extensively. You spend some time studying Mr. Ashcroft. During the first year of your association, Mr. Ashcroft made very little secret of his admiration for you. You were said to have left him disappointed, but quite pleased when he struck up a friendship with Mr. Curtis. You catch him looking at you from time to time and smile whenever you do. You still trust him as much as he trusted you when he divulged the true parentage of Mr. Richard to you.

Ellie looks as well as you’ve ever seen her. The pallor of her skin has given way to a youthful blush. You remember her last episode, which happened during your wedding tour and you charged Mr. Ashcroft with updating you by letter twice a week. But since, she has been stable and even healthy. She talks of the soldiers like you and Mary used to talk of the soldiers. 

Mary is as she ever was. Despite her dramatic choice of husband, she remains pragmatic, which has been a godsend for Lampton. Mr. Simmons is an educated man, but as Mary has told her, can be more ambitious than his means allow. She has mended relationships with most of her old acquaintances and you think that once she gave them a grandchild, her parents fully forgave her. (You wonder if that will work with your mother and decide that yes, it probably will.) Out of all of your friends, you never thought it would be Mary to make the imprudent match. But she did, and she looks over at Mr. Simmons as he says something timid but with a good point. She gives him an encouraging smile and he speaks with more authority. After he is done, Mr. Ashcroft responds, but Mr. Simmons only looks at his wife with a small expression of gratitude which, like the rest of the exchange, everyone else is oblivious to.

For a while, you let the conversation happen around you and focus on baby Jos in your arms. He is just under a year old so when you sit him on your lap, he can sit up and regard you with as much interest as you regard him. Since he was born, he has dominated Mary’s letters to you. She records every small accomplishment and you are happy to hear of them. You don’t know if he is really as advanced for his age as Mary insists he is (having no other infant to compare him to) but he is a darling boy. He looks up at you, gurgles, and grins. You can’t help but do the same.

“Did you behave for your mama on your trip?” You ask quietly, so as not to interrupt the more lively conversation happening around you.

Jos giggles again.

You purse your lips. “I don’t trust you young man.”

Ellie, who has long since dropped out of the general conversation, leans over your shoulder to peer at the child. “He was well behaved enough,” she reports. “Mrs. Simmons seemed surprised.”

You bounce him on your knee, much to his delight. “Maybe he knew he was going on holiday? Did you know you were coming here for a holiday?”

Jos shrieks in laughter disrupting the conversation around you. You look up, a little embarrassed to find the whole party looking at you and the baby. You look to Demetrius and after the initial shock, his expression melts into a smile. You think you detect a hint of pride there, but you also think you may be wrong. 

Mary reaches over to take the baby from you. She look tired and so does Mr. Simmons who stands abruptly and goes to his wife. “I think it is time for him to sleep,” Mary says.

You nod and let her take him, with a little sadness. Demetrius and Mr. Ashcroft stand when Mary does and Demetrius ushers her toward the door. “Mrs. Elkins has arranged for Hetty, Emilia’s lady’s maid, to look after your son while you are here,” he says.

While Mary thanks him, you feel a little rush of pride, your husband really did put a lot of thought into your friends’ visit, anticipating all of their needs. Mary and Mr. Simmons leave and shortly after, the rest of you follow in order to get dressed for dinner.

Back in your bedroom, you dress yourself while Hetty looks after Jos. You’ve just slipped into the same gown you wore to the party after your wedding tour, when Demetrius steps in from his private dressing room. Usually, you never stand on such ceremony, but you figure that this is a special occasion and you should dress up.

“Darling, might you help me lace up the back?” You ask when he has stopped to admire you. 

You see him nod through the mirror so you take up your hair and turn away.

“Did I please you?” He asks nervously as he pulls the laces tight and ties them neatly.

“Of course you have.” You turn around to find him blushing. “Of course you have,” you repeat with urgency. 

“I had hoped you wouldn’t find it inconsiderate of me to spring a whole party on you all of a sudden,” he admitted.

You shake your head. “I feel only happy… and loved, very much.”

He smiles and kisses you once. “You are very loved, Emilia Curtis.”

You let the moment linger before pulling away and. Sitting at your vanity. “You are too quick dressing, Demetrius, I’ve yet to do my hair.”

Demetrius sighs and sinks into an armchair in the corner of the room. “I’ll wait to go down with you, though I still think we’ll be ungodly early to dinner.” 

You nod. “That was my gift to you,” you say lightly, “an hour to sequester yourself in the library, alone in total peace and quiet,” you smile as you see him visibly relax.

“Emilia you are a wonder.”

You fall into your companionable silence while you brush out your hair and twist it up into a simple updo. When you’re finished and pulling on your gloves, Demetrius clears his throat.

He has stood up and waits by the chair with his hands behind his back. “The child seemed taken with you,” he says. You purse your lips and try to see through his frustratingly neutral expression.

“I am taken with him,” you respond diplomatically. “I did not think I could love any children more than the ones at Lampton, but when Mary made me Josiah’s godmother—I know that I will love our children more.”

Demetrius lets out a slow breath before speaking. “Ah, yes, I know you would. I think I am just worried.”

He leaves the statement to hang in the air and you cannot stand to see him as he is with a knit brow and pronounced frown. “Demetrius…” you call to him softly, hoping to take him away from wherever his mind has driven him.

He takes another deep breath, and you feel yourself doing so as well. “After Olivia,” he begins quietly, “I had given up hope of ever fall in love again, much less being married or wanting to be a father to anyone else’s children, but now, when I am finally blessed with the opportunity, I am afraid I may be too late… that it might be more difficult for men my age.”

Oh. So this, you decide, must be what has been weighing on his mind for so long. It is true that after your wedding tour, when you were trying to settle into a quotidian routine, you both stopped talking about a house full of children, but you don’t believe he has anything to worry about. “You’re not as old as you think you are, dear,” you tell him sternly, in order to prevent him from falling into any unnecessary melancholy. “You may have lived like a ghost all these years, but don’t you know I’ve brought you back to the land of the living?”

After a moment, he looks at you again and smiles. You think you hear him mutter something about Orpheus but you just take his hand and lead him out of the room.

It is not until you reach the library that you let go. When you see that Demetrius is installed comfortably in an armchair with a large and Ancient Rome on his knees do you stop fussing. 

Demetrius has spent all this time looking at you in a sort of awe, but he catches your wrist as you go to leave. “I would not mind if you stayed,” he says kindly.

“But then who would stand guard at the door, my dear?” He lets you go with no further complaint.

You stop before reaching the library door and steal a look back at him and you see Demetrius already settled back in his chair, book open, and his mind oblivious to the outside world.

Ah yes, you think. This is the man who you flew from Hertfordshire to Yorkshire to save. This is what you risked everything for: your husband’s peace. 

As you softly close the library door behind you, you see Mr. Ashcroft, in his formal dinner attire, coming down the hall toward the library.

“Mrs. Curtis!” he says brightly. “Curtis has told me so much about his collection of books, I had hoped to slip in and see them for myself, get a few tips for Thornleigh and all that.”

You smile and stay in front of the door. “Oh won’t you indulge me,” you say with an easy smile. “I want to give you all a proper tour of the gardens tomorrow, but it would be terribly useful to give it to someone first.”

Mr. Ashcroft nods, “As you wish. I am entirely at your disposal, Madame.”

In just a few minutes, you are down the stairs and out the back of the house in the walled garden. Your tour closely resembles the tour Demetrius gave you the first time you were invited to Penridge and except for the few changes you and he have made, very little has changed over the year. Further on, you see the gardener and his hand who you employ for the more ambitious projects. One day, you hope at least, there will be too many children running about the place for you to spend so many hours on your knees in the dirt.

“There used to be more white orchids,” you find yourself saying as you walk along with Mr. Ashcroft, “But I’ve persuaded Mr. Curtis to add more color and variety.”

Mr. Ashcroft laughs. “Yes, Mr. Worthington’s always takes care to mention all the ‘color and variety’ you’ve brought to Mr. Curtis. He’s like a man ten years younger than he is.”

“Good,” is all you say as you stroll on. Maybe you saw it in him all along, because you don’t see your husband's return to civilization as having anything to do with you, but rather with the fact that he was finally married, as he should have been ten years ago. You think he is making up the lost time. 

You wonder if in the next few days, you’ll be able to ride Penridge’s grounds with Mr. Ashcroft. You do adore the sport, but you have no companions at Penridge able to keep your pace quite like Mr. Ashcroft can. You’d like to race him and win this time.

Mr. Ashcroft laughs again when you share this. You’ve taken to walking very slowly around the garden wall, keeping an ear out for the dinner gong, but mostly enjoying your companionship. 

“I’ve actually been wanting to come to Penridge for some time,” he says, apropos of apparently nothing. 

“Why didn’t you ever say so in your letters?” you ask, bewildered. 

“Well I hoped to meet with your husband and did not think it was right to ask to be invited when all I wanted to talk about was business.”

“How intriguing,” you hum. You stop to rescue a chrysanthemum that had grown into the tangled ivy on the wall. You are able to untangle the stem without disturbing the bud and put the ivy back in its place; you make a note to keep an eye out for the flower bushes growing too tall and the ivy too long. “Everything here in harmony” has been your motto thus far and it’s served you well. “What business, Mr. Ashcroft?”

“If you were anyone else, I wouldn’t offend you with such a topic as money, but I know you, Mrs. Curtis, how you love the particulars.”

You let the teasing pass with a smile of agreement and you resumed walking again and waited for him to speak.

“Well, as you know I’ve invested substantially in Lampton Hall over the last two years, but I feel I could be doing more: I want to open my own school in the image of your husband’s.”

You stop again, this time out of surprise. “Oh Mr. Ashcroft, what a philanthropic idea.”

Mr. Ashcroft looks back at you, trying to figure out your reaction. “Thank you. I hope you approve.”

“Of course I approve sir! What has Mr. Curtis said?”

“I have not yet told him. I hope to during our visit--that is, if you will sanction business talk, Madame Hostess,” he says with a playful bow. 

“I will. I would even allow the signing of papers, should it come to that. But seriously, Mr. Ashcroft, I do admire the idea. Where would it be?”

“I don’t know yet. That is one of the many area in which I request Curtis’ counsel. Though I have an idea.”

“Do share,” you encourage him. 

“Well, I rather thought after Ellie is married and Richard is settled that I’d donate Thornleigh to the endeavor.”

Now that does shock you. “Oh my! Thornleigh?”

“Yes. I’d still own the property, but I’d buy a small house or maybe rooms in a city to live. Thornleigh is just so large, I dread the though of living there alone one day.”

You know he doesn’t mean it this way, but you cannot help but feel a pang of guilt when he talks of growing old alone. “Would you be sad to see Thornleigh overrun with wild children?” you say instead. “I will admit that a small and quite horrible part of me weeps to see all of Lampton’s beauty worn with such rigor as forty children promise.”

He shakes his head. “No. In truth, I will be glad to be rid of the house. Believe me, Mrs. Curtis, I have thought of every argument. “

“I trust you would.”

“I keep thinking of Richard… I wonder what may have happened if he were left to… a less sympathetic family than ours.” He walks on and you follow. “I would hope he would have ended up as happy and oriented toward success as he is today, but I cannot ignore that since he landed in my care, I have afforded him every advantage, but even I could not shield him from his birth completely. There are too many unfortunate children born in such a circumstance as my brother’s, to lessen their suffering by even a fraction will be my reward.”

“Beautifully said, sir,” you respond. “I have always admired your loyalty to your family,” you say in the absence of anything else to say.

“And I to yours,” he tells you. 

“I’ve had my own rebellions.” Yout think that is best left unelaborated upon, so you cast the discussion back to the school. “How would you choose your pupils, Schoolmaster Ashcroft, or do you intend to be anonymous like Mr. Curtis?”

“I’ve not yet decided, though I have asked Simmons for his cursory advice.”

“Very good, Mr. Simmons is an excellent headmaster, but don’t you steal him, or Curtis and I will never forgive you.”

A small smile appears on his face, “I would never dream of it.”

You’ve walked around the perimeter of the garden, but it is still to early to go in, so you sit on a stone bench under a trellis and wait for Mr. Ashcroft to follow. “Mr. Ashcroft? May I tell you something?” you ask timidly.

His seriousness matches yours. “Of course, Mrs. Curtis.”

“Well, I don’t quite know how to say it, because I haven’t even told it to myself, not completely. You see, I think I may be expecting a child.”

You look closely at Mr. Ashcroft’s face to gauge his reaction. After he realizes what you’ve said, his expression softens and he smiles. “That’s good news, Mrs. Curtis.”

You smile, “Yes, it is. But you mustn’t tell anyone, as it's only a suspicion and I’ve not even told Demetrius yet.” You can feel a blush rising in your cheeks. Having fully formed your suspicion into words, you feel near ecstatic and you can’t help but grin. 

“You have my word.” He spares you a small smile, but becomes serious again. “You will tell him soon though? I am sure he will be as proud as any husband.”

You nod, “Of course, but until now, it was only a thought. Now I am sure.” You take a moment to look around the garden. The setting sun catched the colors brilliantly. You marvel at the beauty your and your husband have made together here. After it passes, you notice Mr. Ashcroft has fallen back into his sullen mood, looking down at his hands, his lips drawn. 

“Mr. Ashcroft… Marcus, are you happy?”

He looks up quickly at the sound of his Christian name. “I will be happy when Ellie is married and Richard has left the army,” he says sharply. 

You try to mask your shock at his brusque response, but you are unable. “Mr. Ashcroft…”

“Forgive me, my mind is often burdened by concern for my siblings’ wellbeing, but you know that already I am sure.”’ despite his words, his tone is still cold.

“No, please let me apologize if I have upset you. I didn’t realize.”

“Please, Emilia,” he breathes.

You sit in silence for several minutes before you speak again. “Mr. Ashcroft, please tell me you have not given up on the hope of marriage entirely.” You are afraid to hear his response, but he does not give one. Instead, he fixes you with his sharp gaze, but it tells you all you need to know. 

“I think I will go in and see if anyone else is down yet… but please do not feel rushed. Enjoy the garden as long as you wish; you’ll be able to hear the dinner bell from here.”

He nods and you know he has understood. 

\----

When you go in, you do not immediately go to the drawing room, though you hear Mary and Ellie’s voices from the door. Instead you steal back up to the library. Demetrius is just where you left him. He does sit up when he hears the door open and look in your direction, but he relaxes when he sees you. “My dutiful little guard, I saw you in the garden with Ashcroft,” he teases you. 

You smile. “I sacrificed my post to protect you from an intruder, I have saved you.”

“In many, many ways, as you know.” He places the ribbon carefully between the pages of the book he is reading and puts it aside. Like before, he catches your wrist, but now he pulls you onto his lap, a terribly intimate position that you are not at all a stranger to. You yelp a little, but just for a necessary show of protest, but once you are settled, you rest your face in the crook of his neck. His cravat, against which your nose is buried, is soft and smells of the woodsy cologne he favors. It smells so incredibly familiar that you almost forget your distress in the garden. 

“It’s our last chance to tell everyone to go away,” you say, eliciting a deep laughter from your husbands that rumbles through you too. “Everyone would understand, except maybe Ellie, but she’ll understand in a few years. Or Mary can explain it to her. Come dear, let’s tell them all to go away.”

He laughs again. “I’m glad for once it’s not just me,” he responds in a low voice in your ear. You glance up and stroke the gray hair over his temples. 

His eyelids slide half over his pupils and for a moment all of the lines in his face have relaxed. His face turns toward you and your noses knock together, drawing a smile from you both.

“May I tell you something?” you murmur. 

“Anything,” he breathes.

“I’m going to have a baby.”

His eyes fly open, he pulls away just enough to look at your face fully. When he sees you are in earnest, he relaxes again into a smile. “And you let me worry so…” he drawls before kissing you fully. 

“I didn’t know!” you protest with a giggle. “I wasn’t sure!”

“Emilia, you wicked girl!” 

You take his face between your hands and kiss him again.

“When?” he asks while you catch your breath.

“April, I think.”

“How marvelous.” He pets your face and pulls you close.

“Let’s stay here forever,” you say curling into him.

He hums in agreement and for a while, the only sounds are your breathing.

You feel like you’re drifting on the verge of sleep when Demetrius shifts and pats your knee. His voice is still low when he calls your name. “Come dear Emilia, we should at least make an appearance before the dinner bell.”

Ellie jumps up when you appear in the doorway and drags you over to where she sat with Mary. “Emmy!” she cries. “You won’t believe what Mary just told me about Mr. Digby!”

You let Ellie talk enthusiastically, but you keep an eye on Demetrius who stands with Mr. Simmons, speaking while accepting a drink from Hughes. The same way you watch him, you see Demetrius watching you, and it sparks a contented fire in you that keeps you warm until the dinner bell.

As he promised, Mr. Ashcroft comes in as you are all being seated and finds it in himself to be cheerier and more amiable than before. He speaks intelligently with your husband and Mr. Simmons, teases Ellie like an older brother, and compliments Mary on her son. He barely speaks to you and when he does, he maintains his respectful formality though you cannot help but think something has broken between you. However, you find it easy to invest your attention in your husband, trading witticisms across the table.

Because you’re such a small party, you don’t separate after dinner, but adjourn to the drawing room. Hughes and a footman distribute small glasses of claret and Mary proposes a toast to you and Demetrius in celebration of your anniversary. You raise your glass and lean against your husband as you share the loveseat. Mr. Curtis is humbly embarrassed by the show which makes you relish the moment even more. 

You two forget to drink after the toast. Ellie notices and giggles, but does not say anything. 

Demetrius puts his drink to the side and pulls a small book out of his pocket. You don’t recognize it as he hands it to you and as you examine the fine leather bound cover and the marbled paper inside, he watches you expectantly. 

Finding the frontispiece, you gasp. Printed as if it were any other collection of poetry, the title announces “The Collected Sonnets of Mr. Curtis and Miss Vale” dates from the letter of the first poem he wrote you to the sonnet you wrote for your wedding day. And it’s true, on every page of the slim book is a sonnet you or he wrote during your courtship. “Oh my…”

You look up and realize everyone, not just Demetrius is looking at you now. You search for a moment to find any words, tears springing to your eyes. Demetrius’ touch on your arm grounds you. “Thank you,” you whisper to him. 

Demetrius smiles, a bright smile and murmurs “It seemed appropriate.”

“And very thoughtful.”

Soon Ellie is leaning over and Mary is craning your next and you show them the gift and all conversation resumes. You clutch the book in your hand tightly and are loathe to let it out of your grasp, but after an hour passes, you decide you should give Demetrius his gift for your anniversary. 

During a lull in the conversation, you stand up, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. You incline your head and clear your throat. “Dear friends, I was not expecting an audience this evening,” you turn to look at Demetrius who laughs and Mr. Simmons raises his glass. “However, if you will allow me to interrupt the conversation, I would like to present a gift to my husband on the anniversary of our marriage.”

Demetrius’ brow knits as you leave the small circle of sofas and chairs and open the doors to the music room. “I submit for your approval ‘Tu se’ morta” from my husband’s favorite opera, L’Orfeo.” You look directly at Demetrius, whose mouth has formed an appreciative “oh.”

“Em… Mrs. Curtis,” he says carefully.

You sit at the piano forte. “Miss Ashcroft, will you turn my pages?”

She obeys immediately and sits beside you on the bench. You order the sheets of music, purchased discreetly and hid in the middle of a sonata you never play. You close your eyes before you play. You have been rehearsing this piece whenever your husband is out of the house, which has not allotted as much practice as you had hoped, but you know that he will be happy with it, because he is happy with you. You poise your fingers over the ivory keys and make the first notes. It pours from you then, a lover’s lament. You have never touched it before, as it is too sad for your tastes by half, but you know how long your husband has admired this piece, since he saw it staged in Bath in his youth. You want to give this to him. You do. 

At the end of the piece, your voice is shaking from the nerves, but your fingers have steadied. The applause startles you, as does your husband’s hand on your shoulder, you had not heard him move. 

“Very well done,” he says. 

You blush a very deep pink and Ellie has the discretion to busy herself putting away the sheet music. 

You two linger in the music room while Ellie returns to the drawing room and the conversation resumes. Again, you are struck with the urge to throw everyone out, including Mr. Hughes who stands silently at the sideboard. 

Not a word has passed between you and Demetrius, but none need to for you to know he feels the same way. You cannot tear your eyes from his. The moment stretches on and in his eyes you see his pride, his approval, the approval you strove for in the early days of your friendship. Then, you were a pupil, now a partner. And soon you will have a new student to teach, together. 

“I, for one, am going to retire,” Mr. Ashcroft announces, startling you out of your daze. He stands and bows to Mary and Ellie and then to you and Demetrius. “If you will forgive my for breaking up the party, Mrs. Curtis,” he says. 

“Of course, sir.”

He nods. “Ellie, I suggest you do the same,” he tells his sister. 

Ellie looks to Mary and then to you, but Mary pats her arm. “You have the right idea, Mr. Ashcroft,” she says. “We’ve had a long journey and I’d like to look in on Jos before going to bed myself.”

You appreciate all of your friends very deeply as they make their humble excuses and file out of the drawing room with brief goodnights to you and your husband. 

“Well they cleared out quickly,” you say with a breathy laugh, as you close the doors to the music room and Demetrius brings a few empty glasses to Hughes. 

“Shall we follow, Mrs. Curtis?” he asks. He nods at Hughes, who wishes you both a goodnight, before offering you an arm. You take it. 

“Thank you for today, and thank you for the surprise. You sir, however,” you say, turning on Hughes. “I am appalled you never told me what Mr. Curtis was planning.”

Hughes smiles mildly. “I give you my word madame, that the next time Mr. Curtis plans an impromptu house party, I will warn you at least an hour before they are due to arrive. Goodnight, madame.”

The halls are dim and quiet as you walk back to your bedroom. You know that not every year will be as blessed as your first. You know that a child will disrupt your lives in ways you will never predict. You know your life is just at its beginning.

Mr. Curtis opens the door for you and you untie his cravat. You place your book of sonnets on the bedside table and turn out the light.


End file.
